Water Wings

by Morris Gleitzman

  ‘Thank you Pearl,’ he said, gesturing for her to hand Winston over.

  Pearl froze, heart going frantic.

  Last week when Mr Gallico had confiscated Ewan Foley’s dart gun, he’d chucked it in the bin.

  ‘Thank you, Pearl,’ said Mr Gallico more loudly.

  He reached down for Winston.

  Before she let go, Pearl gave Winston a reassuring squeeze just to let him know that he wouldn’t be spending more than two seconds in the bin, even if it got her expelled.

  Winston gave a loud whistle.

  It was almost a scream.

  Pearl had never heard him do that before.

  ‘Be gentle with him,’ she begged. ‘He’s scared.’

  She hoped desperately that Mr Gallico had a secret soft spot for guinea pigs. He might. He looked a bit like one himself.

  Mr Gallico held Winston in a pudgy hand and they studied each other.

  Then Mr Gallico looked sternly at Pearl.

  ‘Is your mother here?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Pearl quietly. ‘She must have got busy. She’s a general manager.’

  A woman standing nearby shook her head.

  ‘We’re all busy,’ she muttered to her friend, ‘but some of us put our kids first.’

  Pearl saw that many of the parents and grandparents were nodding and looking at her pityingly.

  ‘This is the busiest time of year for a tobacco co-op,’ Pearl explained to them. ‘All the farmers are sending their tobacco in for Mum to sell. If she neglects her job, this town could go broke.’

  The parents and grandparents thought about this.

  ‘The fact remains,’ said Mr Gallico, ‘open day is for family members and relatives, not pets.’

  ‘Winston is a family member,’ said Pearl. ‘He’s been in my family for years.’

  ‘He’s still an animal,’ said Mr Gallico.

  Pearl wished she could cover Winston’s ears.

  ‘He’s a mammal,’ she said. ‘He’s the same as everyone else here.’

  She looked around at the parents and grandparents, hoping they’d agree.

  They didn’t.

  Nor did Mr Gallico.

  ‘There are many differences between animals and humans,’ he said, voice rising with anger, ‘one of them being where they go to the toilet.’

  A titter ran round the classroom.

  Pearl stared in horror at the liquid trickling through Mr Gallico’s fingers.

  She couldn’t believe it.

  Winston had never done that before.

  Mr Gallico picked Winston up with his dry hand and thrust him at Pearl.

  Before she could take him, Mr Gallico spotted a large wet patch on his trousers and let go too early.

  Winston dropped to the floor.

  The classroom echoed with the loudest squeal Pearl had ever heard.

  For a sec she thought it was Mum slamming on her brakes in the playground.

  But it wasn’t, it was Winston.

  Pearl grabbed the key from the herb tub, barged the front door open and sprinted into her room.

  ‘Nearly there,’ she panted to the school bag cradled in her arms.

  Winston looked up at her gratefully.

  Pearl stuffed fresh hay into the sleeping compartment of his hutch and laid him gently onto it.

  ‘You’re home now,’ she said.

  She watched him burrow in.

  Her hands shook with relief.

  It had been the worst afternoon of her life, even though Mr Gallico had apologised and said not to worry about the dry cleaning and had let Winston spend the rest of the day in a book box full of egg carton offcuts where he’d gone to sleep.

  Which was pretty unusual for Winston.

  Pearl had felt sick.

  She’d just wanted the bell to ring so she could get him home.

  Now she put her face close to the hutch.

  ‘If you end up with a limp from this,’ she said softly, ‘we’ll sue him.’

  Winston squeaked his agreement.

  Pearl peered at him even more closely.

  Had his squeak sounded strange or was she just overanxious?

  The phone rang.

  Pearl ignored it.

  Mum’s voice boomed out through the answering machine.

  ‘Sorry Pearl,’ she said. ‘Absolute chaos this end. I tried to get away this morning but some ciggie bigwigs turned up unexpectedly and I had to take them to lunch. I’m glad I did because …’

  Pearl stopped listening.

  All she could do was stare in horror.

  In the hutch Winston had fallen onto his side, his legs stiff, his whole body trembling.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’ asked the nurse.

  Pearl, gasping for breath, held the plastic bowl with Winston in it under the nurse’s nose.

  She knew the nurse would understand when she saw Winston peeping out of the straw, sad and quivering and in pain.

  The nurse gently pushed the bowl away.

  ‘The vet has several people waiting,’ she said. ‘He’ll see you as soon as he can.’

  Pearl put the bowl onto the counter so she wouldn’t jolt Winston when she blew her top.

  ‘Please tell the vet it’s an emergency,’ she said, ‘and if he doesn’t come now, Mum won’t ever let him use her deodorant again.’

  The waiting room fell silent.

  Three people, two budgerigars and a German shepherd stared at Pearl.

  The nurse obviously didn’t know Mum.

  Instead of saying ‘she’d be too busy to notice’, the nurse picked up the phone and spoke to Howard.

  The next ten minutes felt like ten hours.

  First Howard finished examining a ginger cat.

  Then he told Pearl to stay in the waiting room while he took Winston into his surgery.

  Pearl stood outside the surgery door, straining to hear what was going on inside.

  She’d just started to apologise to the people and the budgies and the German shepherd when she heard Winston squeal.

  She flung herself into the surgery.

  Winston was lying on a table, trembling.

  Howard was holding a glass tube against his white sleeve and studying the liquid in it.

  He looked up, startled.

  ‘Jeez,’ he said crossly. ‘Do you want me to drop this one as well?’

  ‘Is Winston OK?’ asked Pearl.

  Her throat felt so desperate she could hardly force the words out.

  Winston gave her a pleading look.

  Pearl hoped it was just because Howard had been singing.

  Howard put the glass tube down.

  ‘How old is Winston?’ he asked.

  ‘Six,’ said Pearl. ‘Seven on August the nineteenth. Dad gave him to me for my birthday, just before he left.’

  Howard sat down at his desk and started writing on a pad.

  ‘As guinea pigs become temporally advanced,’ he said, ‘they can develop a bilateral renal nephrosis. There can be tubular atrophy, interstitial fibrosis and sometimes acute neoplasia.’

  Pearl stared at him.

  This was worse than Japanese at school.

  Howard looked up at her and his face softened.

  ‘I’ll send Winston’s wee off for tests to make sure,’ he said, ‘but I think you’re going to have to be a very brave girl. It looks like his kidneys are pretty serious.’

  Pearl’s head was ringing with panic.

  ‘You mean,’ she heard herself croak, ‘he’s got to have a kidney transplant?’

  Howard shook his head.

  Pearl felt relief flood through her.

  Winston looked pretty relieved too.

  ‘Guinea pigs can’t have kidney transplants,’ said Howard. ‘When renal disease is this advanced, it’s time to say goodbye.’

  Pearl gaped at him.

  He was speaking Japanese again.

  ‘Winston won’t suffer,’ said Howard softly.

  ‘Two little nee
dles and he won’t feel any more pain.’

  Pearl stood frozen for a long time.

  Then she gently picked Winston up, kissed him, and ran out of the surgery with him as fast as she could.

  3

  ‘Leeks?’ said Craigette Benson, twisting her bedroom curtains in her hands. ‘We haven’t got any leeks.’

  ‘OK, green capsicums,’ said Pearl desperately, chopping broccoli as fast as she could. ‘Green capsicums are good for the kidneys.’

  Craigette didn’t move.

  ‘Come on,’ pleaded Pearl. ‘Your Dad’s got a fruit shop. Look in the fridge.’

  ‘You’ve had everything from the fridge,’ said Craigette miserably. ‘There’s nothing green left in the fridge except lime cordial.’

  Pearl took a deep breath.

  Stay calm, she told herself, for Winston’s sake.

  She stroked Winston’s cheek.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered to him, carefully placing some crumbs of broccoli next to his mouth. ‘If you can’t eat this, we’ll get you some leeks.’

  Winston didn’t say anything.

  He just lay on Craigette’s bed shivering under the doona.

  ‘Don’t promise him leeks,’ said Craigette, ‘cause there aren’t any.’

  Pearl saw that the shivering was getting worse.

  She turned away so Winston wouldn’t see her face if she panicked.

  ‘Craigette, please,’ she said. ‘Winston urgently needs vitamins for his kidneys. We’ve got to find something he can eat.’

  Craigette wasn’t even paying attention. She was peering anxiously out of the window.

  ‘My parents’ll kill us if they find you here,’ she said. ‘I’m not even allowed to eat lollies in my room, let alone prepare vegies.’

  Pearl felt a strong urge to hit Craigette with the chopping board.

  Then she saw that Winston was ignoring the broccoli, just like he had the lettuce, french beans, bok choy, beetroot tops, celery, sweet corn and frozen peas.

  ‘Come on,’ she begged Winston. ‘Eat something.’

  ‘There’s beetroot on my wallpaper,’ said Craigette miserably. ‘My parents’ll kill us.’

  She dabbed at the wall with a tissue.

  Pearl put a crumb of broccoli on her finger and held it to Winston’s lips.

  ‘Just try one bit,’ she said. ‘If you’re too weak to chew, just suck it.’

  She held her breath, praying he would.

  ‘Oh no,’ moaned Craigette, ‘celery in my slippers.’

  Winston looked up at Pearl with moist eyes.

  ‘And lettuce under my pillow,’ said Craigette. ‘Yuk.’

  Pearl took a desperate breath.

  What if Howard was right?

  What if Winston wasn’t going to get better?

  In the distance the doorbell rang.

  Craigette hurried out of the room.

  That’s all we need, thought Pearl. Angry parents who don’t understand how dangerous yelling can be for a sick guinea pig.

  She put her mouth close to Winston’s ear.

  ‘We’ve got to shift,’ she said urgently. ‘I’m taking you to …’

  She thought frantically.

  ‘… to a shack in the bush. With an old stove so I can make you grass and thistle soup.’

  While she tried to remember if she’d ever come across any shacks with working stoves within walking distance of town, Pearl began to gently lift Winston out from under the doona.

  He squealed with pain.

  Heart scrabbling, Pearl slid him back under the cover and stroked his quivering fur.

  He looked up at her anxiously.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said, her own throat aching with worry. ‘Don’t worry about Craigette’s parents. Fruit shop owners have to help people with vitamin deficiencies, it’s the law.’

  She heard footsteps behind her and turned.

  But it wasn’t Mr and Mrs Benson.

  It was Mum and Howard.

  ‘It’s a tragedy,’ said Mum, overtaking an ambulance, ‘and we feel for you, love. But we do not have time for these hide-and-seek games.’

  ‘And it’s not fair on Winston,’ said Howard. ‘He was in a lot of pain. You should be grateful your friend rang us.’

  In the back seat Pearl didn’t say anything.

  She imagined a giant slug crawling out of a lettuce in the fruit shop and eating Craigette.

  It didn’t make her feel any better, so she went back to concentrating on how Winston was feeling.

  He lay on her lap, his head cradled in her hands.

  Not moving.

  ‘That injection,’ said Pearl, ‘was just to make him feel better, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Howard patiently, ‘it was just to control the pain.’

  Pearl didn’t take her eyes off Winston.

  You’d better be telling the truth, she thought.

  She wondered how many horse tranquillisers it would take to kill a vet.

  ‘Pearl,’ said Mum, ‘I’ve been thinking. How would you like a mobile phone?’

  ‘If Howard wants to kill Winston,’ said Pearl, ‘he’ll have to kill me first.’

  ‘OK,’ said Mum, ‘it was just a suggestion.’

  Pearl knew it was hopeless as soon as she saw the long words on the lab report.

  Hands shaking, she went over to the surgery table and showed the print-out to Winston.

  He looked at it and then looked up at her.

  She could tell he understood.

  Howard put his arm round Pear’s shoulder.

  ‘Think of it this way,’ he said softly. ‘With a wonderful owner like you he’s hardly suffered in his whole life. Shame to make him start now, just for the sake of a couple of weeks.’

  Pearl tried to ask Howard if there was any way of transplanting something from her body to Winston’s, but she couldn’t speak.

  ‘Because that’s all it’d be,’ he said. ‘A couple of weeks of pointless pain and misery.’

  The sadness in her throat was almost choking her.

  ‘Or I can put him gently to sleep,’ said Howard, ‘and he won’t feel a thing. Which do you think he’d prefer?’

  Winston gave a tiny squeak.

  Pearl looked into his pleading eyes and saw his answer.

  But she had to be sure.

  She pressed her lips against the fur on his cheek and strained to hear if he was squeaking anything about wanting heaps more vitamins or a shack in the bush.

  He wasn’t.

  Pearl said goodbye quickly.

  She was worried the first injection would wear off and she didn’t want to risk Winston being in agony again.

  Plus she didn’t want to upset him with loads of crying.

  It was bad enough for him knowing the second needle was waiting on the work surface.

  So she just hugged him gently for a while and thanked him for being the best friend she’d ever had.

  She could tell from his expression he felt the same about her.

  Then Howard and the nurse came in.

  ‘All ready?’ said Howard.

  Somehow Pearl made herself nod.

  ‘Come on Pearl,’ said the nurse, ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  Pearl sat down and held Winston to her chest.

  He blinked up at her gratefully.

  She looked into his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  She saw that Winston understood.

  ‘Do it now,’ she said.

  Afterwards, Mum arrived.

  ‘You poor love,’ she said, and put her arms round Pearl.

  ‘She was very brave,’ said the nurse.

  ‘Not a tear,’ said Howard.

  ‘Takes after me,’ said Mum.

  Pearl didn’t bother trying to tell Mum that she’d been crying for twenty minutes in the toilet.

  She was too numb to speak.

  ‘We’ll have a funeral,’ said Mum. ‘Just as soon as I’ve dropped some cl
ients off at the airport. Just you and me.’

  ‘Where?’ whispered Pearl, but Mum was already on her way to the carpark.

  Pearl showed Winston the hole she’d dug.

  ‘Sorry it’s not much of a grave,’ she said, tilting him so his head pointed towards it.

  She knew Winston couldn’t actually see it, but showing him made her feel better.

  Just a bit.

  She was glad Winston couldn’t see it because he’d probably feel offended at being buried in a herb tub.

  ‘It was the only place I could dig,’ she said. ‘When Mum had the backyard brick paved to make it low maintenance, she didn’t think to leave space for a grave.’

  Pearl looked down the street for the hundredth time.

  Still no Mum.

  ‘Sorry it’s not much of a funeral either,’ she said. ‘Mum must have been held up.’

  She hugged Winston to her.

  Even though he was going cold and stiff, his fur still smelt like Winston.

  ‘At least I’ve got you for company,’ she said.

  But not for much longer.

  Not once he was in the herb tub.

  She stared at the dark damp hole for a long time.

  Then she dried her tears.

  ‘There’s no way I’m putting you in there Winston,’ she said.

  She filled the hole in loosely so there was a mound and stuck in the cross she’d made from two of the roof supports from Winston’s hutch.

  Then she carried Winston into the kitchen, opened the freezer, and laid him carefully at the back under the peas and sweet corn he loved so much.

  4

  ‘It’s a crisis,’ said Mum, plonking an armful of business papers and takeaway on the kitchen table. ‘Barely two weeks till the Tobacco Carnival and the Carnival Queen writes her car off.’

  Pearl tried to look sympathetic.

  ‘Extensive whiplash,’ said Mum. ‘Doctor says she’ll be in bed for a month. I asked him if there was any way we could prop her up on the float, but he said no chance.’

  Mum sighed and stared at the paperwork, lost in thought.

  Then she remembered something.

  ‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘have I missed the funeral?’

  Pearl nodded.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Mum.

  She started unwrapping the takeaway.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ she said, ‘and then you can show me where you’ve buried him. Do you want peas or corn with your burger?’